


Silence

by MaevesChild



Series: Flash and Burn [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ancient History, F/M, Flash Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Marital Love, Marriage, Pre-Blight, Sympathy for the Devil, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, failure - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 04:12:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3796267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaevesChild/pseuds/MaevesChild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every villain, even men with aspirations to Godhood, Blighted magisters and immortal darkspawn were men first.  </p>
<p>Once, Corypheus was just a man, even if he forgot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silence

"Come to bed darling."  His wife's voice was thick with sleep.  She'd woken up to an empty bed yet again.  He knew it hurt her.  He didn't mean to hurt her.

He didn't sleep.  The Fade offered little comfort, only frustration at not being able to reach it.

He noticed she didn't use his name, neither the old one or the new.  She would have preferred the old, he knew, but he couldn't use it any longer.  Dumat commanded it.  The man who wore the old name was dead.  The new name had not been earned.  

His time would come, but not yet.

Corypheus; The Conductor of the Silent Chorus.  He would be remembered for all time, if only he succeeded.  His sandy hair had gone grey as he butted his head against failure yet again.

Dumat's voice echoed in his head;  _Assault the Golden City in my name and I shall grant you everything you desire.  Do this and you will be as gods among men, immortal and undying, powerful as the sea._

He had been a Priest to Dumat his entire adult life.  He prayed to Dumat even longer, since he was only a boy.  He was just barely a man, gangling and new in his adulthood, not yet married or even ordained into the priesthood the first time he heard the dragon's voice.  Then the temples thronged with bodies, countless thousands praying to Dumat and the dragon gods and receiving their blessings.

Now, the temples were empty.  

He simply could not understand it.  Why were the people turning from the gods?  Were their lives so comfortable now, so sweet that they'd all become fat and complacent sheep?  

_You alone are chief among my faithful.  Only you have been loyal to your god.  As my priest it is your sacred duty to help the lost find their way back. Bring me the glory you know I deserve._

"Darling?"  His wife called for him again.  He realized he hadn't spoken; Dumat's silence was becoming his own.  Dumat had given him this life; his beautiful wife, his children.  No matter the pain in his head or the agony of the gashes in his arms where he drew on his own blood, he owed it to Dumat to be thankful for the life he'd been given even as he was prepared to give it up for his glory.

He turned to his wife finally, amber eyes glassy from lack of sleep, from exertion.  She was a lovely creature, the epitome of a Tevinter wife; demure and beautiful and still a powerful mage in her own right.  She'd given all that up to to run his household and raise his children.

They were beautiful children.  They didn't go to the temple either.

He was a failure.

He ran a hand through his hair.  His fingers were ruined, burned and cut and damaged but he could still feel the thicker wiry texture of the silver hairs mixed into the brown.  Soon it would just be remnants of brown in the grey instead.

"I apologize," he said, hardly recognizing his own voice.  "I didn't mean to wake you."

She shook her head, dark curls tumbling over her shoulders.  She was nearing forty, but she looked so young in comparison to him.  The magic was sucking him dry.  She still looked at him the same, as if he'd not aged a day and the lines weren't etched into his face.  Concern was in her eyes when she saw the rivulets of still flowing blood running down his arms and the dark ruby brown where other cuts had scabbed over, blood coagulated and dried into a crust and he'd not even bothered to wipe it away.

"You didn't wake me," she said.  Her voice was delicate and musical.  "I woke because I was cold."  She sighed and reached out to him, touching his shoulder gently.  He couldn't remember the last time he'd reached out to her and done the same.  He put his hand over hers like an old memory.  "Please, you need to rest.  Come to bed."

He wanted to fight her, protest that he couldn't rest until he'd solved this puzzle.  How could he sleep, dream like any other when he should be finding the way to crack the Fade itself?  Dumat's glory needed to be more than just a dream.

But he hadn't the will left to argue.  He was defeated by his inability to find the solution.  He could tear rifts into the Fade and pull spirits out.  He could send his own spirit in, but his flesh was forever thwarted.  Dumat was sure to punish him for his failure, but he was utterly exhausted.  Every inch of his body ached.

He leaned his head forward and rested in against his wife's belly.  She was slender, but her middle was soft from bearing his children.  Those lovely, understandably distant children, saddened to watch their father's decent into obscurity.  As her arms wrapped around his neck and shoulders, petting him, comforting him, he was reminded of putting those children into her.

It had been so long.  He'd dedicated himself to trying to make his flesh as pure as he could, as if that would somehow overcome the barrier into the Fade.  Where magic failed, maybe willpower and deprivation would suffice.  

That too was a failure.  His body ached to be touched, for some sort of comfort to soothe the hurt in his flesh and his soul. His wife ran her fingers through his hair.

She loved him, even now as he became a relic of a different time.  Once the people of Tevinter honored their gods and the priests who brought their gloried words to the masses.  Now they paid lip service at best and at worst, looked at the priests as artifacts, fossils that reflected the past but did not need to be part of the world as it was now.

He still heard Dumat's voice, but for how long?

She tugged at him and he didn't have the strength to resist.  He went to his feet and let her take his hand.

"Come love," she said.  "Let me take care of you.  The gods will wait."

He followed her and fell into his own bed for the first time in ages.  His wife, his beautiful adoring wife touched him with reverent fingers, reminding him of those days when the priesthood were revered as much as the gods were, lavished with praise and affection.  Even then, he'd saved his affections for Dumat, though there'd been enough then for his wife, for his children, for laughter and life.

He'd forgotten how to be alive.  She crawled on top of him and tried to remind him.  At first, it seemed his body would betray him as well, but she coaxed him with gentle touches, soft persistence.

Perhaps that was where he was failing.  He was trying to crack the Veil with an explosion of magic, a massive tearing when maybe he needed to use soft fingers, weaving through an open rift to worm his way through, just as her touch found its way through his depletion and his emotional defenses.

She took him inside her and for the first time in as long as he could recall, he felt safe and wanted again.  He flipped her on to her back and she made a delighted squeak, her arms wrapped around him, her smiling lips against the pulse in his neck.

She was right. Dumat had been waiting for a long time at his chance to breach the Golden City and claim his rightful place.  He could wait a little longer.


End file.
